


Curiosity

by akitsuko



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Oswald's voice is startling. Edward whirls to face the bedroom, where Oswald is sitting far too comfortably in the armchair, one ankle resting atop the other knee, his expression inscrutable as he holds the awkwardly familiar object between his two index fingers.Edward creates a sex toy in his own image, and Oswald finds out.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> I joined the discord. This is why I can't be trusted. Gratuitous filth. Also, it's my birthday!

In hindsight, leaving it out in the open had perhaps not been the best idea. Edward should not be as surprised as he is to find that his  _ project _ is not where he left it, on the windowsill of one of the guest bathrooms, but he certainly feels that his alarm is justified.

He had been under the impression that no one really used this bathroom anymore, not since he'd moved to the master suite with Oswald. He had clearly been mistaken, much to his chagrin. Perhaps Olga had been in to do some cleaning and found it; if that's the case, then Edward can only hope that she didn't realise what it was.

He takes a breath and tells himself not to panic. The best-case scenario, if indeed Olga is the culprit, is that she has simply moved it to the master bathroom, assuming that it is something he forgot to move himself.

He manages not to run, but only just.

Unfortunately, there's nothing resembling the item he's searching for when he bursts into the master bathroom, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. He scans every shelf, every surface, but it definitely isn't there. 

His heart sinks. Without the best-case scenario, his options are not at all promising.

"Looking for this?"

Oswald's voice is startling. Edward whirls to face the bedroom, where Oswald is sitting far too comfortably in the armchair, one ankle resting atop the other knee, his expression inscrutable as he holds the awkwardly familiar object between his two index fingers.

For once in his life, Edward is speechless. This is not a conversation he anticipated having just yet. His cheeks are burning with the force of his blush. All he can do is swallow, while he works his jaw uselessly, feeling rather like a goldfish.

Oswald is not patient enough to wait for a reply. "Ed, I'm almost afraid to ask, but is this… Did you make a replica of… your…?"

The way he's saying it makes it sound almost ridiculous, and the way he's holding the neon green rubber toy, as if it's some sort of unusual specimen, is not helping.

All Edward wanted was to know what it felt like. He hadn't thought it was particularly strange; he'd chalked it up to natural curiosity. Surely most people had similar thoughts, even fantasies, every so often? While working at the GCPD, he had overheard several conversations between men speculating in jest about wishing they could orally pleasure themselves, and having the ability to fuck oneself was simply a natural progression. All Edward had done was attempt to actually experience it.

Except he hasn't even managed to get that far, because Oswald has intercepted his new instrument before he's had a chance to use it. Being faced with the unexpected need to justify himself has him feeling hot with embarrassment, and he deeply regrets his failure to hide the casting kit more thoroughly.

"I…"

That's all the confirmation Oswald needs.

"Since I have the pleasure of the real thing," he says, his gaze dropping to eye the toy critically as he tilts it in the light, "I can only assume you were planning to use this on yourself. Unless you expected that I would be able to accommodate more than one of you?"

That implication has Edward's breath hitching as a flurry of related images -  _ Oswald stuffed impossibly full -  _ flood his brain.

Oswald smirks. "Now,  _ that  _ is a discussion that we can open at a later date. For the time being, I'm very interested in hearing your rationale for making this."

Edward clenches his fists and refuses to look Oswald in the eyes. He's on the back foot, very much at a disadvantage in this conversation. He quickly weighs up the merits versus the risks of telling a lie, before dismissing that idea almost instantly. Not only would Oswald see straight through him regardless, there's nothing he can think of to say that would sound the least bit convincing, nor any less humiliating than admitting the truth.

"I wanted to…" he starts, although the words are difficult to get out. "I wanted to feel… myself."

It sounds lame and idiotic to his own ears, and he immediately wishes he could snatch the words back out of the air before Oswald hears them. But Oswald's raised eyebrows tell him that such a thing is beyond the realm of possibility. Oswald taps the rounded end of the toy against his finger a few times, and it jiggles obscenely.

"Get on the bed. Hands and knees."

His tone brokers no argument, and Edward finds himself scrambling to obey, his embarrassment giving way somewhat to arousal as he considers where this might be going. He feels the blood rush as he begins to harden with anticipation, watching Oswald stand from his chair and walk out of view behind him. There's a pause, and then the mattress dips, signalling that Oswald has climbed up with him.

"You weren't going to tell me about this, were you?" Oswald's arms reach around him, unbuckling his belt and unfastening his pants. Edward can't prevent the quickening of his breath. "You were going to do it all by yourself."

Oswald's fingers scrape his skin as he pulls his trousers and underwear over his hips and down to his knees, exposing his ass and thighs. He turns his head, craning his neck to try and see what Oswald is doing, but it only earns him a sharp slap to his right buttock that sends a jolt through to his cock.

"Eyes front," Oswald barks, and Edward snaps his head back. He licks his lips. His glasses are slipping down his nose, and he can feel the weight of his hair straining to break free from its style and curl against his forehead instead. 

Oswald's hands are rough and yet gentle as they massage Edward's flesh, easing the sting from the previous slap. They trace up and under the hem of Edward's shirt, caressing his lower back, sweeping down his sides and skirting across his abdomen before circling back. His grip becomes firmer as he moves his touch back to Edward's ass, squeezing and parting his cheeks with a languid sense of indulgence.

Edward allows his head to hang down, losing himself to the simple pleasure of having Oswald's hands against his bare skin. He's spent enough of his time fantasising about all the things Oswald could do with his hands that the reality of being touched by them still puts him into a peculiar, dream-like headspace. 

Then Oswald is holding him open with more intent, and a slick finger is circling at his entrance, jerking Edward's attention fully back to the present. He realises that Oswald must have already retrieved their lube before Edward came rushing into the room. The finger slides inside him, slow and steady, and Edward can't help the moan that comes out with his next breath.

Oswald crooks his finger, stretching and teasing him. "You're a narcissist," he growls, his own breath hot against Edward's back. "No one is good enough to fuck you except  _ you.  _ Is that it?"

At first, Edward stays silent, only prompted to respond when Oswald stills his finger in expectation. "No," he huffs, unsure of the extent to which Oswald's words convey true insecurity. It wouldn't be the first time Oswald had required explicit reassurance that he was wanted, and the last thing Edward wants is to make him feel less than enough. So he tries. "That's not it. I love it when you… when you…"

Oswald pushes a second finger in alongside the first, robbing Edward of his ability to construct sentences. His muscles clench against the intrusion, even as the fingers scissor inside him, dragging against him as they steadily slip in and out. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead, and his knuckles are white from his grip on the sheets beneath him.

"Ed, dear, what am I going to do with you?" Oswald's fingers press in all the way to the knuckles, and he wriggles them experimentally, causing Edward to groan. "You've created a sex toy from a mould of your own dick. What am I supposed to think?"

"I was curious!" Edward whines, even as Oswald's two fingers become three, the burning stretch demanding his full attention. Oswald thrusts into him, his pace leisurely, occasionally brushing against that sweet spot that makes Edward's whole body shake and his brain short-circuit.

He could cry when Oswald finally removes his fingers altogether, muscles spasming against nothing, the empty sensation almost unbearable. Then, when he feels the rounded tip of his replica cock nudging against him, a desperate sob really does escape.

"Allow me to satisfy your curiosity."

The toy is pushed inside him, feeling bigger than can be possible, until Oswald's fingers around the base of it are pressed against his backside. All his breath comes out in a shuddering rush, his eyes rolling back in his head. His glasses fall off his face. He's eternally grateful that Oswald allows him a moment to adjust to this new fullness, his other hand caressing up and down the back of his thigh.

"Tell me, Ed," Oswald says. "What does it feel like to have yourself inside you?"

Edward couldn't possibly answer. Every ounce of his focus is on maintaining his position, on relaxing around the firm rubber, and on keeping some quite undignified noises to himself. Logically, he realises that there's no way he would be able to tell the difference between this and any other similarly-sized toy by feeling alone. But the knowledge that it has been modelled on himself, it's more exciting than it should be. For a very brief moment, and quite unbidden, the image of his darker half springs to mind, draped across his back and hilted,  _ fucking himself _ , and holy crap, that's not something he'll be forgetting any time soon.

"Oswald…" is all he can whimper, praying that Oswald will know what he needs, and that he will have mercy on him.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Oswald withdraws the toy until only the tip remains inside him, keeping his rim stretched out. Edward pants, and just when he's on the verge of throwing his dignity to the wind and begging, the whole thing is shoved back inside, making his spine arch and his mouth hang open in a silent scream.

From there, the pace Oswald sets is punishing. He holds Edward at his hip as he thrusts the toy over and over, slamming its full length into Edward's ass with a force so brutal that Edward can barely remember his own name. His forearms collapse under the exertion, the side of his face rubbing against the sheets as he moans continuously and uncontrollably.

"You like that?" Oswald asks, still sounding unfairly composed. "You like the feeling of your own dick in your ass?"

Edward is weak and dizzy, his mind spiralling from how incredibly, unfathomably good it feels. He can hardly get enough air, each thrust knocking the breath out of him, eyes closing, wanton screams erupting from him with every jab that hits inside him  _ just right. _

He's close, so close, and he's going to come without even being touched. He's so hard that it's almost painful, and there's no way that he can endure this blissful torture much longer.

"Never forget, Ed," and Oswald suddenly sinks his teeth into his ass even as he keeps up the intense fuck with the toy, hard enough that it will certainly leave a mark, " _ you're mine." _

Edward comes harder than he can remember ever coming before, his mind going white with pleasure, his cock throbbing as it pulses fluid out over the sheets beneath him. He shakes through the aftershocks, riding the orgasm out as Oswald fucks him through it, and heaving a deep breath when his movements slow and eventually stop altogether.

It takes him several moments to recover his wits, while Oswald's touches have turned soothing, his lips pressing soft kisses to seemingly random spots of Edward's exposed skin. He carefully removes the toy when Edward starts to squirm, and Edward finds that he doesn't care where it ends up as he falls into a relieved heap on his belly. He's utterly spent.

"Are you alright?" Oswald asks him, after a few quiet minutes of idle caresses. 

He nods, feeling sluggish. "I'm great," he says, surprised at how hoarse his own voice is. "So great."

Oswald chuckles, settling himself to sit at Edward's side. "Just tell me, next time."

Edward snorts. If every confession will end like this, he will never keep anything to himself again.


End file.
